Rivals
by Archon Blackdragon
Summary: Rivals: Chapter 1 - Wherein, our antagonist, Inspector Akilant, investigates the murder of a local mage in Luskan
1. Scene of The Crime

Chapter 1  
  
The body laid in a puddle of its own blood as the city guards stood watch over the crime scene. The call for the watch came in the early morning before the sun had risen; the people of Luskan still awaited dawn, so that most of them could begin their day's work.  
"A real pity this sight is right 'ere", said one watch guard to his partner as they passed by the body. "So young and pretty that one was."  
"Indeed", came a reply from an unexpected place; the front entrance to the slaughtered mage's abode.  
The guards swung around to see a tall lanky man at the door. He stepped forward, giving them a better look of his features as he stepped into the light. The stranger was old it seemed. The apparently aged man had white hair, and wrinkles that seem not to give his face an ugly appearance, but rather the look of one who was experienced in the way of the world.  
"This area is off limits to civilians", the guard stated, a feeling of unsure authority in his voice, most likely due to the start that the elderly-looking man gave him.  
The old man just chuckled a bit, "I assure you that I am no civilian." As he said this, the man pulled a silver badge out of his pocket and pinned it to the front of his leather jerkin. The badge was that of an upturned crescent moon above a mountain range, its reflection depicted in the sea below the cliffs. "I am Inspector Jericho Akilant of Waterdeep."  
The watch guards very quickly and with a surprised look on their faces, turned to face each other, and then backed away from the body and into a corner of the room, giving Akilant a wide berth; they had heard of this man's reputation.  
"Thank you ever-so-kindly", stated Jericho with a quick and almost condescending smile as he stepped into the middle of them room where the body lay, making sure to step over an overturned planter as he traversed the distance between himself and the cadaver.  
Jericho set down his bag of tools and stood next to the body. He then bent down and reached into the bag, removing from it a pair of strangely colored goggles. Placing them on his face, he began his search of the room. A myriad of colors and shapes flashed before his eyes, soon giving way to discernable objects and solid colors. The goggles primary function was to display to him the presence and apparent measure of power of any magically enhanced items being observed. Jericho let his mouth gape open as he looked about him, the presence of the arcane force could be found everywhere; everything had been touched with magic at some point in time. The inspector noted that through the goggles, some objects projected shadows that did not seem to belong to them. A candle-stick projected the shadow of what looked to be a small hammer. Jericho chuckled a little as he removed the goggles.  
"Wizard", the inspector stated nonchalantly. Then added "Transmuter."  
He then walked to the body and began to examine the wounds that had been inflicted upon it. They were long slashes, to large for a standard longsword, but to short to be inflicted by a large, two-handed sword. He also noted that the mage's bloodied left hand was clutching a piece of black cloth with silver lining, like from the corner of a cloak. Jericho looked up at one of the guards and squinted to see the rank insignia on his leather breastplate.  
"...Sergeant", he said with a sense of discovery. "Your suspect is armed with a hand-and a half." The guard looked at him stupidly.  
"A bastard sword", Jericho spoke slowly as if he were talking to a mentally retarded person. "And is wearing a black cloak with silver lining. That combined with the footprints on the street outside, Id say he was about 6 foot 1 and weighed in at about 230 pounds.  
Once again, he received a look of utter confusion.  
"I just gave you a bloody description of the subject you moronic excuse for a protector. You should probably get going to inform the rest of the city watch", Jericho said with increasing frustration.  
"Oh...right, right. Yes of course", the sergeant stammered as he ran towards the door.  
"Wait", Jericho yelled at him. "Take your quiet friend here with you."  
"Yes, sir", the guard replied as he motioned for the other one to come with him.  
The guards ran off into the night, leaving Jericho and the dead body of the pretty young transmuter alone together. He ran his finger along her arm, tracing an imaginary pattern.  
"We're alone now", he calmly stated. "Now that this whole 'evidence' business is out of the way, I can find out exactly what happened to you."  
Jericho closed his eyes and placed his right hand on the floor. The darkness created by his closed eyes soon turned white as he concentrated on his psionic abilities. The white haze cleared a bit, allowing him dream- like vision of the room he was currently in. Except that there was no body on the floor. The pretty woman was seated in a chair next to the fire- place, reading her spell book. She smiled as she read down over that magical text. Probably viewing a spell she had just copied; the mage had the look of someone admiring her own work.  
She looked up suddenly and spoke. Jericho could hear no sound; his powers were very much developed, but not perfect. Jericho turned to see to whom she spoke, a dark figure approached, his face hidden from view. He was a little over six feet tall, weighing about two-hundred and thirty pounds. In his right hand, he carried a large, elaborately designed sword. Runes decorated the blade.  
Jericho turned back towards the woman. Her hand was raised towards the man, and she appeared to be chanting. From somewhere behind Jericho, two streaks of azure light flew past his head and struck the woman squarely in both shoulders, disrupting whatever spell she was going to cast. Jericho whirled around to see the hooded man's hand go down to his side. Jericho's mind raced; how can this man cast spells if he is dressed in the garb/armor of a warrior and carried a sword? Such things were not unheard of though. Some mages had found ways to cast their spells without use of body motion, eliminating the interference wearing armor caused. This was not the case Jericho decided, the man was clearly wearing some form of armor and was still using his hands to cast.  
Jericho had not much time to dwell on this thought because at that moment, the man raised his sword, and charged at the woman, cleaving through her sternum and rib-cage; a killing blow if ever Jericho saw one. It was at this moment, that sound returned from its absence in Jericho's psionic vision. A scream pierced the air. Jericho clutched at his ears, the sound amplified many times by his own emotionally sensitive powers. The hooded man waited for a moment, then leaned his bloodstained sword on the wall and crouched down, a freshly drawn dagger in his hand. He felt the woman's neck, and was satisfied to find no pulse.  
Feeling his task complete, he sheathed his dagger, and wiped free of blood his sword on the transmuter's robes. He turned and raced out the door and into the night, knocking over the planter. The vision ended.  
Jericho's eyes sprung open, breathing hard, and his forehead beading with sweat. He calmed himself, and took out a handkerchief, wiping the sweat away.  
He gathered up his tools, and looked around the body, searching for any more clues; doing his job. He looked down at the woman's face to see that her eyes were still open.  
"Bloody guards", he whispered to himself as he bent down to close the young wizard's eyes.  
A name suddenly appeared in his head, a woman's name. He sighed as he stood upright again and headed for the door. He should have remembered not to touch her face, he hated knowing their names. 


	2. Early Arrival

Chapter 2  
  
Draykin strode into the Host-Tower with more than a little trepidation. There were many wizards scurrying about, cursing his presence, but still trying to make it a point stay out of his way. They all stared at the sword that was sheathed at his belt. The arcanists, Draykin thought, might well think this would be the sword that he had made an infamous reputation among the arcane scholars with. He chuckled in his own mind; would they really think him so stupid as to walk Magicide right into the tower and put it at arms reach from them. Few mages appreciated the job that Draykin was doing: killing rogue and dangerous wizards who often went mad with the power that they held at their very fingertips, but the majority thought it was wrong to let anyone but another wizard do the job. No, Draykin did not bring his beloved blade into the tower, but he did have very many other hidden magical trinkets on his person; if their was one thing Draykin loved more than raiding a wizard's horde of magic items after he had done his work, he could not think of it. Draykin strode right up to a rather young wizard, probably not even 12 years old studying a spell book at a desk in the middle of the ground floor in the tower. Most likely an apprentice. The wizard did not even look up at him. Draykin rang a small bell that was on the desk. "Can I help you", the still reading apprentice said without too much enthusiasm. "I'm looking for Master Greenwood's office", Draykin replied The wizard turned a page in the book and didn't answer. Draykin rolled his eyes and wondered if anyone would really care if he picked up the spell book and beat the discourteous youth with it. "I said, I am looking for Greenwood's Office", Draykin said loudly and slowly, as if the wizard were mentally handicapped. The wizard sighed and slammed the book shut. He then looked right up into Draykin's face and gave him a disgusted look. "Do you have an appointment?" "Yes", Draykin said curtly. "And your name is...," the wizard asked. "Draykin Tulk", the now very much agitated fighter replied. The wizard took out a scroll and ran his finger down the thick paper. He then rolled it back up, and placed it back in the desk. "Your appointment is not for 2 days, Tulk" "I finished my last assignment early", Draykin said very agitatedly. "Well appointments are appointments, now run along", the wizard said dismissively, and then reopened his spell book. Draykin bent down so that he could whisper into the wizard's ear. "Listen to me very carefully you little heap of orc dung. If you do not run and tell Greenwood that I am here and would very much like to speak with him right now, I shall saw open your head, take that little book of yours, and place it inside. That way, it will be easier to memorize your spells, and you won't be so tempted to read on the job. Now you run along, you pre- pubescent little excuse for a mage." The young wizard stared at him for a moment with eyes bugged, and then with the intelligence required to practice his chosen trade, ran off with all haste toward Greenwood's office. He returned an agonizingly long five minutes later, carrying a small sheet of parchment. The apprentice eagerly handed Draykin the sheet and waved him down the hallway he had just returned from. "Master Greenwood says that you know the drill." "That I do," replied a very agitated Draykin. By this time he was growing short on patience. There was a reason he finished the assignment a few days early, and she did not like to be kept waiting. Draykin took up a brisk gait down the hallway, stopping when he reached a painting depicting an aged mage glancing over his spell book by candle- light, completely unaware of the red set of eyes watching him from behind his back in the darkness. Draykin then checked to see if anyone was around, and then rapped on the wall next to the painting in a specific beat. A voice emanated from deep inside the painting, it belonged to the pair of eyes Draykin suspected, "Password..." Draykin unfolded the sheet of parchment and looked down at the selected password for the day, he sighed at his old master's subtle sense of humor, "prevenient." The painting shimmered and then disappeared, quickly followed by the wall behind it. Draykin then stepped into another hallway, one that didn't exist, officially anyway. He'd done this many a time before. Walking exactly ten paces into the hallway, he then turned to face the left wall, and knocked on the block of stone that was mortared right in front of his face. A section of the wall on the right side of the hallway, directly behind the direction in which Draykin had faced to knock on the block of stone, slid away. 


End file.
